ligature (collaboration with Cheryl)

ashes stitched
   legs tucked
       back bowed

           beaded neck
              pressed by
                 gloved hand

                  lips cold
                 thighs blaze
                ears crack

            nostrils flare
         hips hoist
     cervix shudders

"i can taste my teeth"

show-teeth
  animal odor
     burning penis
        no fear

         rubbed flesh
           fire eases
             out of anger
               driven rage

            enchantment
          death desire
        moving vigor
maximum arousal

"subjugation"

_________________________________________________ _____

good girls reward (inspired by Tiko) C.A.

in a fantasy,
ropes tighten
around strong thighs
curvy hips

like a piece of lace
criss crossing
on delicate leggings
 
good girl uses soft words
because hard ones
jerk her back to conviction

there's no need for a low curtsy
her bow is deep
knees a precise plié
 
private misdemeanors
don't allow chance-taking
 
cranky conscience
like a gear
reeling-in frazzled endings
by a mere thread
 
His offer to hold her hand
is more than a gesture
soothing
her tired feet
as well

_________________________________________________ ___________

a change of pace (for C.A) by tiko

a bite
a slight bite
on the inside
of your elbow

a scratch on the
outside of your
thigh

a stretch
a yawning stretch
in your hips


knees back
                 back
                      further

now we can
dance

_________________________________________________ ____

remembering how (by Cheryl)

it seems hard
waiting to dance

where's the dancer now?

if tried again
would I remember how?

when is the bow and fall
from the choices made?

no one tells me
what to do

hard to dance the right dance
listening for familiar tapping
the tick-tocking of chimes

I remember how
________________________________________

instructions for remembering how

remove the
shards from
your hands
your neck
your torso
your ears

soothe with
the warmed
wax of
bees

and decanted
wine

feel the
dance
pull

through your
loins
and fingers

the dimples
in your
hind

slide
slide
slide

into the
dance

written by ~tiko~
________________________________________

Decanting by Cheryl

older, red wine needs decanting
so does a woman
if she is older

sediment, grape skins, enzymes
need to settle to the bottom
of the decanter, then you
pour from the top layer

a woman needs to settle
then you may have her very best

can see why decanted wine
is good for a bruised soul
it's pure and it breathes

dance near flames  by Cheryl

in a dance near flames
they are dark and light

with closed eyes
she leans sideways
into his palm

orange fire crackles
between them

something is burning it's way through
like a firefly handed to an audience,
                                   here, look

it won't die between cupped palms
there will be more than a husk of
something bright and shining

in darkness above fire
breath is clear and white

revised expectations by tiko

it’s just a fuck

no special rituals
required

no different
than a new
tattoo or
piercing

expect
pain and
purple and
ribbons
and steel

no rituals
no flowers
no smoke

just a fuck

that first tattoo
you grease it up
you keep it clean
you show it off

the latest though
you're hiding
underneath
your trousers

like it might
get out and
make the
kitchen dirty

you could've told me 'it' was just a fuck
before you screwed me
you asshole

just because you're too ignorant to handle it right
doesn't mean I am

never did like your tatoos
and the fact you pierced your tongue
didn't do a thing for me
either

listen,
i have to go eat some
baloney and eggs now
but when i get back
i'm going to tell you
what i really think

good

you can tell us if baloney
and eggs taste better than crow

that you're going to have to
ask lance armstrong about

who's
lance
armstrong?

that you're going to have to
ask sheryl about

---

call me an angel
call me a whore

I'll paint myself
all over you

my stains roar

fuck rituals
give me wicked heat
on purple flesh

be my puppet
dance with me
I play free for show

incise your shadows
curdle your dignity
dare you exit your closet

---

---

all this time
all we've been through
one would think
you could at least
spell my name

but no
you turn to other women
sounding the same

---

do you dare
to enter
my closet

butter makes it better

my dear madam

it seems you've
confused
me with my
representative

the one with
pockets full
of butter

ready
to lather it
into an obliging
ear so the
lies
will go
down
down
down
into the lining
of your panties
to grease
loose
that chain of
chastity
your mother
installed some
years ago


if you
choose to
receive my
calls again

be advised

the butter is
salted

the wine is
corked

don't
bring a shawl

bring tricks
---- lots of tricks

and extra
batteries

my dear sir,
you have outdone yourself,
a chipmunk chattering
as if a squirrel.

if you want butter
in your pockets,
I suggest you
start pounding
some milk.

---

I had other plans
but can't resist your intention

my hands move down my back
and around to the front
never leaving everywhere

I'm too overwhelmed to speak
but I'll smile with hot wet lips
surrounding

you


the tricks I bring are a plunge-r
and a wrench
for tightening

the trick in your closet
is a throbbing rooster

now, I'm sweet and lovely, no?

---

 

it's dark in here
but since you have
tools handy

and are feeling
acquiescent

how about one of
those metal wheels
for belts and ties

and shelves up here
for hat boxes
and gloves?

a wench with a wrench
is worth two in the plunger
she can tighten your nut
& bolts screw the screws
such fun when she comes
as a plumber.

---

storm clouds gather outside
but I'm safe and warm
inside this dark space
a magical closet

I can't see anything
so I imagine a secret place
I've always wanted to be

a necktie, a silk robe
and a weave of nylon
brush my arm

a voice floating
somewhere provokes me

curiosity is killing me
I want to wrap the tie
wear the robe
and find out about
rough nylon material

---

that plumber wrenched me
out of bed and ratcheted
me with up the wall
with her hatchet

no wonder i hide in here
with books and dream
of peaceful carpentry
with others

outside the door
i can still hear
the sucking footsteps
of the yeti

oh boy, what a life!
I finally snagged me a boyfriend
so's I figure all my fantasies
will come true, ya know?
So I talk about 'em, ya know?
But all he does is talk about
playin' with them star wars characters,
ya know?

in the back of the closet
is worse
you want a boy friend
or a Ken doll
did you stop to think
why a four-room house
on the inside
looks like a palace
from the street?

---

I think I've been deceived

in this writing which is s'pos'd to be
poetry poetry poetry poetry
is s'pos'd to be erotica
erotica erotica erotica erotica
          feel so much better now

back to my deception
I'm lost in this magical closet
four rooms I go in!
a closet with 4 rooms!
and I share one with my sister, even!

so I drive up to this castle
should've known then

a very handsome prince kidnaps me
before he figures out I came here on my own

and pulls me in a dark room
surrounds me with men's ties for blindfolds
satin robelets to entice me
freaky nylon mesh shit to scare me

and then asks me if I wanna play Barbie's!

lessee, I know he has a weak spot
so's I can get back on track

I mean, I know what THE weak spot is
but I don't wanna talk about that right now....

---

boo tee call

some
days
you
wish

you'd
just
drank
tea

masturbated

and
gone
back
to
bed


(found this while trudging.  thought it fit the criteria.)

if you don't know how
to play Barbie
you don't fit my criteria

each of the shoeboxes
boxing your feet
is crammed

with torsos, arms, legs
or heads

now mix and match me

certainly you do
have some freaky things
in this closet
body parts I know
that's one thing
mix and match
well that's a different story

masturbation--
nah, don't do that anymore.
it's lonely

*****
the tea with someone
that's the place
I want to be

where I am
no one but
you receive
the gift you
have craved
of living up
to my criteria

words a stun gun
truth
guilt's freedom

first
in chain of command
like none before or after

seldom lifted
arms to chastise

led
but
never sated

in compliance


what am I
but
becoming
what you say


play your hand

---

you will
be moist

black dirt
in spring

and the
sensuous

worms
will bring

you so much
satisfaction

that when
you try

to think
nothing

at all will
come out

digging that reply Tom.  think you can stop at satisfaction though. :D

held out
my hand

in it
you place a spark

that
won't take flame
until you
touch it

then
though in pieces
though deaf and dumb

I'll supply the greedy
with
a new and different
taste
for
more

---

with apologies to all editors & their picks

I must confess the first time
I read it as pricks & glancing
down i saw it was rather long
that impressed me quite a bit
of course by that time i realized
it was not pricks but picks
which got me wondering
who picks the editors' picks
& thought to myself how ripe
I was for the picking.

How right 'twould have been
even if it had been pricking
'cos a prick is not just a prick
but a prick as well, I mean literally.

I could sing 'o prick o prick
o prick me with a picking.'

sorry no offence meant - hope no one is taking it in that sense -
who picks the editors picks - the line was floating around in my head - so just made it up.

if i've hurt any sensibilities i apologize

you haven't hurt a thing as far as I'm concerned, and can't see how you might've hurt anyone else.  you're just posting your 'nawty bits' as tiko says.

enjoy yourself,
cheryl

thanks cheryl!

hope you enjoy the following - not my words - but a friend's - over long discussion about poetry - the only credit i can take is putting it in verse:

(in Roy's words)

Good poetry is like sex —
great foreplay,
intense encounter,
a contemplative cigarette.

I'm posting this here so I can remove it from workshop....

---

dance near flames


with closed eyes
she leans
into his palm

orange fire
crackles
between them
in a dance
near flames
something
is burning
it's way
through
like a firefly
handed
to an audience
     here, look!

it won't die
between
cupped palms

there will be
more than a husk
of something
bright and shining
in darkness
above fire

breath
is clear
and white

---

you have become
a monster of ice
no degree of fire
even causes to
grow slippery

and I

stuck to you
a stupid tongue
onto the flagpole
on the coldest
day of the year

some things are sad
others are mad
I think you've gone mad

maybe I was wrong
or not paying attention
that was when I wish
you'd grabbed me
by the shoulders
and shook me,
     'this is for you, dammit!'

maybe all the elements
weren't in our favor
but that's a lame excuse

if all three exist
a flame erupts

we have the fuel
even if it's anger
look at Rhett and Scarlett

we have heat
need and desire
aren't we both human?
at one time, I truly wanted you
and I know you wanted me

we gave each other
room to breathe
sometimes the fuel and heat
were so strong
we needed more air
...or not as much

---

I want to levitate on your lungs
put whipped cream in your shaving cream
pounce between your frothy legs
and frolic on Friday
and today's Friday

now, all of that's naughty (or nawty)
but it sounds like shit

---

strawberry shortcake
comes to mind

food swallowed
inadvertently
into the airtube

& that restaurant
sort of a Hooters
without the...well, hooters

where's that geek
you promised us

is the library open
late tonight?

friday starts
with morning
vigor
breakfast and
whipped cream

for lunch
we
should have
tonya

*the other half

'morning 'hun

do
what
you
will

after
20 years

i'm
indifferent

perfectly
indifferent

& entirely
yours

now who
the fuck
is
Tonya?

Tonya by Cathy Calkins

Poem longer than your life, lines straighter than your limbs. Bald, pale unresponsive body bent in contractured pain, unformed bones under aged skin, perfection contorted.

Names recalled, faces in past cribs becoming your fact, each torment inflicted on you linked to their wounds, each act of compassionate harm an act of penance a nurse's hands should never have to make.

You could not see, could not hear my comforting—suffered each hurt in feeble agony. Your mother waited for us to dress you in health, to hand her a baby with no need of alchemy. Longing for an end, knowing yours would be the last thorns I thrust into pliant flesh, I dressed each day in mourning cloth.

HA!  you know you suck...don't you. lol.

Tiko

yes but it's always good to be reminded.

gag @ who tonya is.

tiko, thanks for your good mornin' and schedule for the day.

---

I think this would be better here.

---

I have this strange ache
in my hip, right at the bend
in the back, around the middle
sort of.  It's a cruel kind of pain,
like it's reminding me
of what your legs feel like
after you have sex.

---

Embrace

Decked out in what appears
to be the shirt of the same
pajama-set my 'baby mama'
shipped to me for Christmas,
the Afghani president hugs
the Irani president on the front
page of the New York Times
and raises quite a few more
questions than he answers.

Probably she and his wife just
patronize the same fashionable
men's shop in Kabul, but it is
also conceivable that she gave
all her men the same present,
and Hamid—hiding his smirk in
the photo—is secretly enjoying
the company of the same PFC
who left an infant here with me.



If I am jealous of Ahmadinejad,
as close to Linette's body as she
would be to mine if she were he,
I'm not going to let on except
to say he looks a bit fastidious,
Steve Carell-ish, and Hamid has
the same high-neck haircut as
Frank Langella in Frost/Nixon—
and it all gives me the creeps.

I miss Linette, the plain uniform
worn like a sack full of potatoes,
and oh what potatoes they were.
A man in a karakul Good Humor
cap—to think what he might think
of doing with a woman like that
hits me like a thump to the chest.
Tonight I'm going to wear my set,
do some damage in my own bed.

Don't know how to colloborate with that.  Don't even know how to answer it or what to say.  I guess I could speak as woman in a uniform like a sack of potatoes.

Is the woman in your poem a lesbian?  Probably not, I prolly read something wrong.  Do love the last line.  It's a perfect opening for another, but what kind of woman is she?  What nationality.  'Splain me please.

---

I forgot what I actually meant to say:

---

pass the Strawberry Short Cake
strawberries are sensual
cake yeah
short not so much

---

Women from Afghanistan don't have sex, and definitely don't make love.  They're either raped or abused.  A law was past recently to force Afghan women to have sex with their husbands.  If they don't, or if they complain about abuse or rape, they go to prison.

---

Purple is the Color of the Longing
by David Steinberg


Purple is the color of the longing,
tucked into the folds of pulpy organs
soft and vulnerable.
A finger could pierce like a bullet
this swollen pulse.
An uncaring touch would tear to pieces
the soft fiber of its nest.

Defenseless it hides
in the soft warm dark
safe and alone,
and dreams silently
of the most gentle hands,
      hands that part the flesh with trembling care
           inching open the egg,
      hands that breathe,
           warm and moist,
           attentive to the quietest heartbeats,
      slow patient hands that touch
           with no shadow of demand,
      fingers   that explore hinted textures
           radiating wonder and discovery,
bridges delicate enough to join
      one time
      under the noise of aching lives
the being of one
with the presence of another.
 



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

© Copyright 2005 by David Steinberg. All rights reserved.

 

---

---

(his erotic poems are pretty awesome)




To Whom It May Concern


Not a word!
The eyes speak in rivers,
      the fingers in trees.
The body has a language all its own:
this time we'll send the interpreter home.

I will open you
      petal by petal
      taking all the time in the world.
I will build with you a slow fire
      stick by stick
      and watch the color of your sunrise.
I will play with the wind of you,
      cover your body with smiles and games,
      promises and fantasies that disappear
      without a trace.
I will stir your secret core,
      witches' brew of potions and incantations
      and feel you simmering, rolling
      floating in my hand.
I will fill you slowly up,
      every crevice and curve,
      watch feel hear smell taste you
      growing full.

And when every part of you is one,
when you are saturated, suspended,
water trembling over the brim,
I will ride with you over the falls
      drown with you
      disappear all boundaries
      tumble over and over
           and over and over
until there is only the spinning dizzy
dance beyond dancing
and the great wave crashing to bits
everything, leaving us
strewn with the seaweed
in the sand and the sun
      to dry.

 



© Copyright 2005 by David Steinberg. All rights reserved.

---

 

---

she was older
and well versed
in the act
but she took him in
like a young girl
welcomes her soldier
home from war

---

That's beautiful, C. Both meanings of "she took him in" perfectly at home in this. -T.

I think the line breaks are wrong and make it jerky.  How should they be?

seem fine to me, but probably would too if they were different...

---

Making Love Last night
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Making love last night,
light as lace
soft as skin,
slow as the passing of the moon.

First comes being here,
exactly here.
All the rest follows,
intentionless as a dream.

Do I dream these touches
delicate as snow
bending the hairs on my back?
Lips and tongues brush
weightless as ghost sheets.
Attentions touch
so electric we both startle.
How long have I searched
for someone who would share
the delicacy of complete attention,
pinpoints of touch totally given,
totally received?

Face to face across the mirror
we dance slower than I have ever moved before
staying exactly together
from first touch
      to night
           to morning
                to noon.
We wait for one touch to be done
before even imagining the next.
We bleed into each other.
We drink each other
drop by drop,
miss nothing along the way.
Everything I give in my touch you receive,
and your fingers answer with all of you.
A bubble of light
balances on our tongues
      our fingertips
tracing filigree trails crisscross
over shoulders and hips.
There is no coming or going,
only being here
      totally alive,
      totally aware.

The road of the night shatters
into steppingstone instants.
Two pebbles, we jump
into the still blue water.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

© Copyright 2005 by David Steinberg. All rights reserved.

---

---

Tom, here's an example of how I 'embrace' your writing.  I love this poem.  I took it to heart in my own way (I probably don't even read it the way you wrote it, but the way I read it is beautiful) and don't really care if that matters to you.  Someone I know told me something like 'all's fair in a poem'.  ;)

---

---

That's a beautiful card, Cheryl, the pictures really do enrich the writing. Thanks! Tom

lol

couldn't tell it was a towel til the second look.  interesting, silence, to see you launch off into different areas of art.  lol   but something tells me it's not the first time for you.  ;)

it's not mine

just part of an advertising campagne

http://cyber.law.harvard.edu/blogs/static/snarl/axe.jpg

http://blog.lib.umn.edu/raim0007/gwss1001/axe.jpg

~~~

after she smiles
says its good to see me
makes polite conversation
escorts me away
takes off her top
boards me
squeezes her nipple
licks the back of my head
bites the tender part of my ear
                         and shoulder
massages my dick
slides my hand around her neck
puts her top back on
kisses my cheek
tells me to tell Kim hello

i'm still just a trick

oh, I knew it wasn't yours.  just messin' with ya.

'boards me' interesting.  'tell Kim hello' -- o my.     'still just a trick' --  awww, men have feelings too, eh?

good one, tiko.

more than you know. :D

tiko

why old men drink gin

life lesson number six:

women say
all dick
ain't
good dick

men say
all pussy
is
reasonable

huh?  don't understand this one, tiko....unless you're saying too much isn't good, and all is only reasonable, not enough.  I'd think that was true but there's a generation growing right now where girls want it just as bad if not more than men.  kinda scary, but true.  I'm thinkin' it's all those hormones in chicken and cows.  ;)

more,for women,
finding good sex is
a crap shoot.  finding
someone pleasing is
hard as hell because
most men have the
sexual maturity
of a 22 yr old.

but, even if a man does
not get all the things
sexually from a woman
that looks desires, he's
still reasonably satisfied
because he got sex and
he has the sexual maturity
of a 22 yr old.

tiko

reading your reply, tiko, does two things.  reminds me why I don't fool around, and makes me glad I don't.  why don't you guys straighten up???

thought i'd get this thread going again
 

triggers



don't look at my hand

focus on the spice
scraping your tongue

the brown spots in the sky
the heaving of your knees

the singing
in the next room